A Knife is At Your Back
by goodluckdetective
Summary: The end begins at the start.


The room was small.

The was the one thing Cassandra could think of, looking at the setup. When Barbara had come to her about this plan, she'd expected the room to be larger, if only to symbolize the weight of the task it would carry. In retrospect, she could see the idea was foolish, you didn't need a warehouse to film an interview, but it still seemed rather lacking.

Her brother was in the room now. He was sitting in the lone chair in the room, his Talon uniform on, the mask pulled off to hang off his neck. It reminded Cassandra of a noose. He was still while he talked, almost rigid as a board, but she could see the slight wrinkles around his eyes as he spoke. Recounting all of this was not easy on him.

Cassandra's eyes traveled to the camera. It was right in front of her, and she could see her brother's face on the small pop out screen. Duke was manning the thing, making sure it didn't shut off while recording on Harper's handmade tripod. The red light that stood for recording blinked. Cassandra remembered that light. She'd seen it often in her life before the Owls. In the hands of her father.

She'd always thought those recordings had died with him until she was proved otherwise.

Jason finished up his story, wrapping with the part plea and threat Oracle had written for them. Duke reached forward for the recording button and snapped it off. His eyes were wide as they took in Jason. Cassandra could see that her brother's story had shook him.

That was good. That was why they were doing this. Why she was doing this.

"I think that's good," he said. "Thanks, Jason."

"Eh." Jason waved him off, but Cassandra knew better than to buy the gesture as a sign of her brother's wellbeing. He reached into the bag he had brought, a small black duffle they used for most of their missions, and pulled out a folder. Inside, a plethora of papers stuck out. "Here's the shit your boss wanted by the way. All our brother's stories, typed by yours personally. Try not to make too many edits to my creative genius.  
Duke took the paper and put on top of his messenger bag. He looked thrown by Jason's ease; he probably thought it was authentic instead of a coping mechanism.

"Thanks," Duke said. He looked at Cassandra. "You ready?"

Before she could answer, Jason steeped in front of her. He was almost coiled in on himself, ready to spring. His hands were stretched out, pointed, like claws. Or talons.

"Woah, woah, birdy, I thought I was reading off Cassie's story."

Duke's lifted his chin. Even in a situation like this, outmatched if it came to a fight, he was ready for what they could throw at him. Cassandra respected him for it; it reminded her of herself. "Oracle wants it from her. They say it'll be stronger that way."

"I'll see what they think is stronger when I stick a knife up their ass," Jason hissed. Cassandra could see one of his hands twitch, like he was deciding if he should attack Duke or pull Cassandra away. Cassandra resisted the urge to sigh.

"I'll do it," she said, pushing past him. Jason's hands dropped to his sides, his fingers relaxing. He looked at her like he hadn't really seen her before.

"You sure? You hate…" He trailed off but Cassandra could fill in the blanks. Revisiting the past. Speaking more than she needed to. Presenting herself in front of people she didn't know. Jason wasn't wrong, the idea of sitting down in front of the camera filled her with dread, but she squashed it as best as she could.

This wasn't about her and what she wanted. This was about something bigger.

"I need to," she said, walking over to the chair. The red light that stood for recording blinked back at her. Jason, deciding to finally take her word for it, crept into the back corner. He watched her, focused, waiting for a moment he needed to get her out of there. Duke reached for the record button.

"Ready?"

Cassandra closed her eyes. She let herself feel a steady hand on her shoulder, a whisper in her ear. Let herself think back to words that had carried her through so much before.

 _"Being brave means doing the right thing, even when it scares you."_

With the echo of Bruce's voice behind her, she opened her eyes. Licked her lips.

"I was six when he...found me."

* * *

It was hard to describe what her life was like. Before the Talons. Before Bruce.

During that era, words were an abstract concept to her. They meant nothing more than random sounds, carried as much meaning as a knife scraping against a sharpener. How was she supposed to understand them? Her father never spoke around her. She didn't hear actual words until she turned four.

No, Cassandra didn't understand words during that time. She understood gestures. The slightest of twitches. The gospel of violence.

It was fitting then, that she understood Bruce's reaction to her far better than her father did.

They spoke at the time. Cassandra couldn't remember the words, they hadn't registered as important in her brain at the time. It was a few months into her father's routine of showing her off, parading her in front of strangers to show her skill. When Bruce had entered, led by her Father, the knife they usually used for these demonstrations was already planted into the training mat.

Cassandra knew that Bruce had no desire to fight her. It was broadcasted all over his face. The curl of his lips. The tightening of his jaw. The slight twitch of his fingers. She picked up on them all, transcribed them into meaning. While he was silent as her father explained her training. Cassandra could almost hear him scream with every breath he took.

He was appalled. He was horrified. He was angry.

David Cain was a smart man in many ways. A brutal man, morally bankrupt, but smart. He could read his daughter's gestures well enough. So when she grabbed the knife in the training mat and fled towards the corner of the room for a better vantage point, he was convinced she'd seen Bruce for the threat he was.

He was right, in a way. Bruce was a threat. But not in the way David Cain expected. Not in a simple sparring match.

He only realized his mistake when he woke up the next night to find Bruce Wayne shoving a knife into his throat.

* * *

"Did you realize he killed him? When he came for you?" Duke said, interrupting her story. Jason had left the room when she got to the part about meeting Bruce, and while Cassandra was tempted to follow him, she stayed in her seat.

She thought back to the night Bruce came for her. He'd been wearing his Talon gear when he opened her door, his mask hanging around his neck. Cassandra remembered taking in the blood on his hands, wondering if he'd been playing dodge the knife with her father.

"No. That was...later." It felt like a lie, to say those words. In some respects, she was indeed telling the truth; she didn't understand what death was during that stage of her life; she only understood pain. But she could remember Bruce putting his hand on her shoulder. Seeing the look in his eyes. Understanding, without words, that her father was gone.

It would be years later before she understood what he said to her as he carried her out of that compound.

 _I'm sorry for your loss._

Cassandra wasn't sure what hurt more; that he tried to apologize or that he meant it.

* * *

Bruce was the one who taught her words.

To this day, Cassandra had no idea how he did it. Bruce wasn't educated in teaching an entire language, he knew nothing of how to help her. The amount of research he had to do was staggering. He would have had to spends hours upon hours looking up sign language. And then he would have had to teach all of that to Dick.

Knowing him now, she didn't doubt that he did. He was Bruce Wayne; he didn't accept impossible as a fact of reality.

He started slow. First, he started using sign language and gestures in tandem, helping her understand them in her own terms. Then he started to connect sign language to actual words. Small words, things she used normally. It took years of patience before she could even begin to learn how to read.

It was worth it. When Bruce brought Jason home, scared and frightened, Cassandra knew enough words to walk up to him and say hello. The smile the boy who would become her brother made was worth it.

Once Jason came, she began to throw herself into learning how to read with more enthusiasm. Jason loved books, and as a result, she found herself wanting to understand them more. She spent more time in the library, going over the smallest of sentences, working her way up to bigger ones. When she noticed Jason was more comfortable around her, she began to read with him. They'd spend entire afternoons curled up on one of the armchairs in the library, a book resting on both of their laps. Jason would read the entire text out loud, doing voices for each character. Cassandra could still remember the exact pitch and tone he'd used when him and Dick had read her Cinderella. When they started to read a junior copy of Frankenstein, Cassandra knew enough words to do some of the voices herself.

They never finished it. The night they finished the chapter where the monster came to life, Jason vanished. Within a day he was dead. Within another, he was back with blue veins and a horrific scream as his body knit itself back together.

Cassandra only made it a sentence into the next chapter at his bedside before she started to sob.

* * *

"And that's when everything changed?" Duke's voice was calm but Cassandra could see how she was trembling. She nodded.

"He was...different. Scared. More focused...with the mission." She waved her hand. "I thought...he'd failed...blamed himself."

"But he didn't. Not really?" Cassandra shook her head.

"No. He did. Just for something else." She closed her eyes and pictured Bruce at Jason's bedside. He hadn't noticed her at the time, entirely focused on his youngest charge. She watched as his shoulder's shook.

I'm sorry. I miscalculated. I never thought this would happen.

She thought he'd been talking about what Jason's captor had been willing to do. It was years later before she would realize her mistake.

"And then he asked you to start killing too?"

Cassandra opened her eyes. She stared at the blinking red light on the camera.

"Yes."

* * *

It was six months before she gave in.

The conversation took place in Bruce's office. She knew what he was going to ask long before she sat down. He'd been asking her every week since Jason's death, his requests becoming more blunt as the weeks rolled on. When Dick had been dragged in last night without a pulse, she knew he wasn't going to let her stall any longer.

"How is he?" Her voice was quiet, hushed. Bruce sat in his chair, his hands clutched together. They rested on his desk. Cassandra tried to keep her gaze on his knuckles, taking in the scars there, the lines. How many of those had he gained, protecting his own life? How many of those had he gained taking one?

"He'll be alright. The serum is working. But he's going to have to take a hit to his vanity; no more blue eyes." The joke fell flat. Cassandra could almost hear it hit the ground. "Do you know why I asked you here?"

She didn't answer. They both knew the answer to that question. Instead, she asked a question of her own. "Why me?"

"Hm?"

"Why me? The others…" She pointed to the picture on Bruce' desk. It was recent, almost a week old, and Cassandra already knew they'd have to end up taking another one after Dick's transformation. Their youngest recruit, Tim, stood in the middle of the picture, his smile wide. Cassandra, Jason and Dick stood around him, all smiling. Bruce stood in the back, his hands on Jason and Dick's shoulders. It looked almost like a normal family photo, if it wasn't for the two members with paper like skin and blue veins. Now, it would be three. "Three. Four plus you. Isn't it enough?"

Bruce glanced at the photo. He untangled his hands. "I thought it was. It's the reason why I tried not to press you too hard; I wanted to believe it was enough. But then…" He trailed off and pointed to Dick's face. His gaze traveled to Cassandra's and she couldn't look away from his dead eyes. "He died, Cassie. He's stuck looking like me, like your brother. He'll be forced to stay inside. A normal life, a life outside of this one, are off limits to him now, not without showing what he really is. Because of a man and a baseball bat." His eyes grew harsh, almost cold. It was enough to make Cassandra want to flinch. "If you were there, maybe that wouldn't have to be his new reality."

The accusation was unfair. So unfair. Both of them knew it. But it was possibly correct. Cassandra couldn't help but let it sink into her brain, tangle itself there. What if she had been there? What if she'd been able to watch Dick's back? What if her brother had come home whole and alive?

"Don't ask me...you can't...please." She looked up at him. She could feel tears pool in her eyes. He knew what this would mean for her. What she would see. What she would never be able to unsee.

"Cassie," Bruce leaned forward and rested his hand on her shoulder. It reminded her of the day he carried her away, the day he took her to what she would call her family, and promised a better life. "I am not asking you to kill people, not really. I am asking you to protect our family. Your brothers. And that means giving me everything you have. Even the rough parts."

"Protect our family," Cassandra said. She could read what he wasn't saying. He would ask her to kill people for the family. Stating it otherwise was just condensing.

"That's all I'll ever ask of you. When it comes down to it."

Cassandra looked at him for a long second. Then, she bowed her head. Pulled away. Clenched her hands into fists.

"Okay."

That night, she'd kill her first man by shoving her hand through her throat. A week later, she'd kill her next. Then another. By the time she fell on someone's sword and woke up with blue veins, she would have killed dozens.

The weight of their haunted stares made her wish they could come back instead of her.

* * *

"Why'd you stop?"

That brought Cassandra out of her trance. She found herself back in the present, back in the tiny warehouse staring down a camera. Jason was back in the room now, leaning against the door. His entire frame was tense.

"I-" she cut off. She'd gone on like that for three years. Let the numb feeling sink into her bones, tried to register it as something that was normal. How was she supposed to explain the moment everything changed? Words seemed inadequate. But they'd have to do.

"Oracle."

And Cassandra found herself lost in the past again.

* * *

She found Oracle entirely by accident.

She'd been doing street patrols. Nothing too exciting. When she first caught sight of Barbara Gordon, she'd barely even registered on her radar. She was looking for criminals, the disease on Gotham. Not an old adversary of Bruce's.

To this day, she didn't know how she saw it. Maybe it was the angle of the street lamp, the way Barbara rolled herself down the darkest areas of the city with utter confidence. Maybe it was the fact she seemed tenser when Cassandra got closer to watch. Maybe it was just fate guiding her in the right direction.

Either way she saw it. Cassandra looked down at Barbara and in the exact moment saw Oracle. Their enemy.

She followed her home that night. Watched as she settled into her secret lair. Hovered in the corner as Barbara began to type. She knew what she had to do. What her father would ask her to do. She had to protect her brothers. Protect her family. Oracle was a threat to that.

The knife felt heavy in her hand as she raised it. The idea of throwing it sickened her. But it was the only way. The only-

"He's been lying to you, you know."

Cassandra dropped the knife.

For a second, she thought Barbara was talking to someone else, speaking to one of her computer monitors or something. But then the woman turned towards her, wheeling around to look her in the eye. Even though Cassandra was entirely cloaked in shadow, Barbara's gaze still managed to rest on her face.

"Your leader. He's been lying to you." She reached back and clicked one of the buttons on the computer monitor. Cassandra felt her stomach turn as pictures of the dead littered the screen. "His way. It isn't helping Gotham. It never has."

All the words Cassandra had learned failed her. She felt like she was back in the bunker, before Bruce, back in the church of violence in which her father was preacher. Had she ever even left? She lifted up her hands to sign. Any verbal communication was tangled in her throat.

 _It's the only way._

She thought Barbara would just stare at her. Most people didn't know sign language. Her language. But instead, Barbara lifted her hands. Spoke in a tongue Cassandra knew.

 _No, it isn't._

And with that, Cassandra found herself converted by the gospel of Barbara Gordon.

* * *

The red light turned off. She was done.

Duke thanked her for her time. She sat in the chair as he packed up his equipment, watched blankly as boy left the small room to head back to the resistance. It was Jason who recalled her back to the present, his words that forced her to tear herself away from her own past.

"It's time to go home."

Right. Home. The den of wolves.

They made good time. As soon as they got back to the lair, Jason sequestered himself in his room, locking the door behind him. Cassandra headed towards hers as well, determined to block out the images of the day with silence and sparring. She made it to her door before Bruce stopped her.

"Hey Cassie," Bruce said. He was in his casual wear, nothing more than sweats and a t-shirt. "I was wondering where you and your brother went."

Cassandra tried to pretend like she was back in the past, when she saw Bruce as her father instead of the monster that haunted her nightmares. It didn't work. "Roof tag. He lost. Sulking."

He bought it easily enough. Bruce laughed. "I should have figured. Well tell me next time, will you? I was concerned."

Cassandra let herself smile and he pulled her into a hug. With careful gestures, she hugged back.

"Still taking care of your brothers?" Bruce asked. Cassandra nodded.

"Always." It felt heavier, with the weight of what she knew.

"That's my girl."Cassandra could hear the truth in his words. He was proud of her. Not for how many men she had killed, or how much damage she had wrought, but for just being his daughter. In his twisted mind, he loved her. He loved them all. And she was going to burn him to the ground anyway.

Cassandra closed her eyes. Her fingers gripped into his back. Her knees locked. Her head turned downwards. To Bruce, it would appear as a regular hug. But to Cassandra? It was a confession.

 _I am sorry I have to do this._


End file.
